


The Weaver

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gross cuddling, Hair Braiding, M/M, Maroon Island Honeymoon, story telling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 00:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: Silver asks Flint to tell him a pirate story.





	The Weaver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leslieknopedanascully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslieknopedanascully/gifts).



The night is hot. There isn’t anything unusual about that, per se, the nights are always hot on Maroon Island. The crackling of the hearths and the incessant buzzing of mosquitoes fills the air, just beyond the thin flap of the canvas covering Flint’s hut. The night is hotter yet with Silver’s back pressed against Flint’s naked chest. Flint always radiates heat, like an indignant sun, setting its rays to either scorch or nourish, depending on the mood. Still, Silver leans into the heat of that sun, and lets the rays envelop him.

“Tell me a story,” he says quietly as Flint’s fingers rummage through his curls and pick apart three adjacent strands. Flint lets the curls wind around his fingers, like a friendly snake, and Silver feels the puff of his breath on the nape of his neck: a furtive sign of gentle mirth, freely shared.

“About what?” There’s a hidden smile in Flint’s voice. “What would you have of me?”

“Anything,” Silver says. It is a small lie, but one easily made. He would add _everything_ to that anything, but he doesn’t wish to seem too greedy. “Tell me about other pirates. The ones who came before us,” he suggests easily. His fingers trace the outline of Flint’s kneecap. He is ensconced between his captain’s spread thighs, which rise on either side of him like cliffs against which he would break like the wave. “If I’m to be this fearful what not… Long John… Should I not know more about those who are my forebearers?”

Flint makes a noncommittal noise, a deep grunt in the back of his throat. Silver still feels the susurrus of Flint’s fingers along his hair. Flint’s fingers are always nervous, playing with his rings, grasping at whatever is nearest, often Flint’s own beard. Silver’s hair is the loom to which Flint takes as he begins to spin his tale.

“Let me tell you a little story about Edward Teach,” he says and Silver settles deeper into the cradle of his open thighs. “There was a man in his crew, his second-in-command, a ruthless bastard if ever I laid eyes on one. The infamous day that Governor Thompson fled Nassau, it was this man who wielded the knife that killed his wife and son. They called him Hands. Israel Hands.”

“Mmmm Israel Hands,” Silver hums in contentment. Flint ties off a little black thread and a thin but perfectly plated braid hangs just behind Silver's ear. 

“Hands and Teach were, well, thick as thieves, if you will,” Flint’s tale moves on and so do his fingers, parting Silver’s hair again, separating curls into equal segments before proceeding. “No daylight between them. Then, this young hot-head shows up, like the Devil had parted the earth and Hell spat him the fuck out. Filthy, unwashed, incoherent. And Teach takes this young pirate under his wing, for whatever reason fancying himself as a father to him, and begins to groom him to be his heir and successor.”

“Just to be clear,” Silver holds up his index finger. “You _are_ talking about Charles Vane now, aren’t you?”

“Whom else?”

“Proceed then.”

“You can imagine, this new attachment did not sit well with Hands, who grew bitter in his jealousy of the young usurper. So one day, before all the crews on the beach, he had the temerity to challenge Teach on this subject. A matter that resulted in a fate most unfortunate and a state most deplorable for poor Mr. Hands.”

“What did Teach do?”

“He gave Hands a degrading beating in full sight of the beach, and completed the humiliating display with a pistol shot to the face.”

Silver shudders and Flint’s fingers pause in their labor. His hair is moved aside like a thick veil, and Flint’s lips press tenderly into the warm sinews of Silver’s neck. “He survived,” Flint whispers, one of his arms tightening around Silver’s middle, to hold him close while his lips lay pressed against the thundering pulse of Silver’s neck.

“How?” Silver asks, craning his neck to allow Flint freer access. His fingers find and interlace with Flint’s. What a thing it is, to gendly cradle the hand that had spilled an ocean of blood, Silver thinks as he brings Flint’s knuckles up to his own lips and presses a chaste kiss to each one. These hands that are still abraded from recent slaughter and covered in fresh scars, so much so that Silver could swear that he can almost taste Flint’s blood upon his tongue.

“The shot had just missed the eye, but left Hands most severely disfigured, banished to roam the Wrecks with the outcasts and lepers from that day hence.”

“That’s horrible,” Silver says.

Flint hums agreement against his hair and presses a kiss behind his ear. “You wanted a pirate story,” he shrugs and goes back to the task he had temporarily put aside, of plating little braids into Silver’s hair.

“I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“From someone like Blackbeard?”

“Is he really so different from you and I?” As he turns back to look into Flint’s eyes, the little braid whips about, nearly hitting Flint on the nose, and they both laugh. Flint’s eyes sparkle like rare emeralds in the kindling candlelight.

“You keep growing that fierce looking facial hair of yours, kitten, and shortly you’ll be sure to give Teach some hard-earned competition.”

“You fucking prat,” Silver laughs but Flint is already pulling him into a slow, bone-melting kiss. There have been many men in his life who would have applied their all towards making Silver shut up, but no one has gone about it with the same insouciant effectiveness as Captain James Flint. He is content to let Flint quiet him for the time being. He wasn’t planning on being the one doing most of the talking that night anyways.

Soon enough, he’s sunken once more against the radiating heat of Flint’s bare flesh, the soft tufts of Flint’s golden chest hair tickling his shoulder blades. “I certainly won’t look very fierce with these little pig tails you seem determined to bestow upon me, Captain,” he chuckles as Flint’s fingers once more find their way back into his curls.

“It would take me a while to undo these,” Flint says and Silver feels the press of his captain’s lips against his hair, a soft benediction.

“You’d better tell me another story then,” he grins and wraps each of his arms around Flint’s sturdy thighs.

“Have you ever heard the one about Henry Morgan and the time he fooled the Spanish Admiral Espinosa by tying the Admiral’s own brother across the mouth of his canon?”

“What?” Silver’s laughing again. “That sounds incredible, how could you not have led with that one?”

“It is only slightly less gruesome than the one that preceded it,” Flint admits.

The nights are always hot on Maroon Island. If they be as hot as Hell, Silver begins to suspect he might not mind the fires of Perdition so much. Perhaps, by the time he gets there, he’ll have a tale for the Devil every night, until the Father of Lies relents and lets him go.

“Henry Morgan once found himself sailing past the coast of Hispaniola in a stolen warship,” Flint begins again. Silver closes his eyes and lets the ocean of Flint’s voice claim him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays from Pirate Santa! This fic was brought to you compliments of hot apple cider with bourbon and I hope it makes you feel equally warm inside <3


End file.
